Freedom's Landing

by Anne McCaffrey

  “Oh, god, do I…know…what…I’m doing?”

  “If…you do…let us…know,” Joe said, coming up beside her: his stride faltered and his breath was labored. He bent over, hands on knees, to restore himself.

  Two Catteni paused in the unloading as Zainal approached: both covering him with hand weapons. With the ship still wheezing steam and interior parts of it clanking, she couldn’t hear what was said, even if she understood Catten, but Zainal was plainly acting authoritatively and both Catteni seemed to recoil. They hurried back into the ship but, now that the hold was wide open, Kris saw that one veered forward while the other merely resumed his labors.

  The Catteni worked so swiftly that there were two full rows of unconscious bodies already spread out. Two cartons, presumably the usual knives, hatchets, and blankets, were in place at the side of the field.

  Not quite brave enough for a closer confrontation with Catteni soldiers, Kris, Joe, and Sarah, struggling to get their breath back, halted of one accord, just beyond the first two cartons, half-hidden in the shadows beyond the bright spotlights. Zainal swiveled slightly to his left, nodded at them, and then turned back. The other Catteni ignored him as they continued to unload.

  Suddenly, those going back in the ship snapped to an attentive halt and three Catteni strutted into view. Two stopped at the edge of the ramp while the third continued on to Zainal. They were of a height but Kris loyally thought Zainal was just a shade taller, and broader, and prouder.

  She heard bits and pieces of the staccato language the Catteni spoke: the newcomer began to gesture impatiently, she thought. Then, with less vigor, he turned his head from side to side. Body language was not all that different, Kris thought. He didn’t like what he heard or he didn’t know if he could comply. Zainal seemed to stand even taller then and crossed his arms on his chest as if he had delivered an ultimatum.

  That the other man was indecisive was now obvious to Kris. Suddenly, he gave an abrupt nod and, doing a snappy pivot on one heel, marched back up the ramp, his two guards falling behind as an escort. Zainal just waited, arms crossed, allowing the stevedores to make their way to either side of him.

  “Why didn’t he go aboard?” Joe asked.

  “He didn’t seem to receive an invitation to do so,” Kris remarked. “Then, too,” and she recalled what Zainal had mentioned once, “he said that what was dropped is never picked up.”

  “Did he mean himself? I mean,” and Sarah was surprised, “he acted like he outranked the captain or whoever that was. And whatever it was he asked for, I think he’s going to get it. They didn’t seem surprised to have another Catteni come out of the dark just like—” and Sarah snapped her fingers—“that either.”

  “Not that I’ve ever seen Catteni soldiers,” and Kris paused to make it plain she didn’t consider Zainal in that category, “display surprise or any other emotion.”

  “Just doin’ my job, man,” Joe murmured.

  “They said Zainal was an Emassi,” Sarah said, “so he wouldn’t fraternize with the likes of those stevedores anyhow.”

  “He was a spacer, any road,” Joe added, “not ground force.”

  “You’ve been hearing things about Zainal?”

  “Don’t get antsy, Kris,” Sarah said, patting her shoulder placatorily and grinning in the darkness. “We like Zainal. He’s good stuff.”

  “Us Aussies appreciate a chap like Zainal,” Joe put in. “Hell’s fire, we’re all in this together. Operation Fresh Start, m’girl.”

  The unloading continued inexorably and the skies lightened.

  “Should we, ah…” and Joe nodded his head toward the hedgerow.

  “No way. I’m not hiding from the likes of them.”

  “Atta girl,” Sarah said, chortling. “You tell ’im.”

  “’Sides, they can’t do any more to me than they’ve already done, dropping me here,” Kris said firmly. She wet her lips and tried to suck some moisture out of her cheeks to ease her dry throat. There’d be a stream nearby somewhere…when the Catteni had lifted off again. She wasn’t moving until they did. They could just decide to cart Zainal off with them.

  The three watching were startled to hear low mutterings and swearing behind them. Swinging around, they saw dark figures pushing through the hedge and the next thing Kris knew, a somewhat breathless Mitford came to a jarring stop to her left. He’d brought quite a mob with him to judge by the numbers of white faces in the gloom, straggling onto the field. Though what men and women, armed with the primitive weapons they had, could do against the Catteni, she didn’t know. A show of resistance might bring out the force-whips, and the skin on her back crawled at the very thought of that deterrent.

  “What’s happened? What’s Zainal doing?” Mitford asked in measured gasps.

  “I think he’s asked for stuff for the Deskis. That’s what we need, isn’t it?” Kris replied.

  “He been inside yet?” someone asked from the anonymous crowd.

  “No, and I don’t think he got asked.”

  Someone snorted in disbelief.

  “Look at the way they’re unloading those poor slobs,” another man said. Kris thought it was one of the Doyles from the rueful lilt in the voice. “Poor bastards.”

  “Well, they’ll be made welcome,” Mitford said emphatically. “Won’t they?” “Sure, sarge, sure.”

  Now Mitford snorted, having set matters straight on that score.

  More cartons were placed and the Catteni, seeing the observers, grinned and exchanged comments with each other.

  “Not flattering, I’m sure,” and that was Lenny’s amused voice. “The same to you, m’bhoy!” he said in a louder tone, although he was instantly hissed silent up by those around him.

  The Catteni looked back and one made a long forward step as if to see the reaction. No one moved a step, but Kris saw bows come up with notched arrows and spears readied to throw. The Catteni seemed surprised, but a shout from the ship had them speeding up his return.

  It seemed they had to wait forever. But the sun was up and the urgency that had prompted their arrival was now irrelevant. But, and that thought sent a surge of pure panic through Kris, the Catteni made several drops in a trip, didn’t they? Had they landed beyond Camp Rock? No, Zainal had said that they were coming in at a landing angle. This was their first drop? Couldn’t Zainal have them drop the whole load here and save us from running all over the planet, picking up survivors? Kris thought irritably. She tried to moisten her throat again and then felt Mitford press something against her: his water bottle. Well, he hadn’t run off at the drop of a hat as she had but kept his cool long enough to bring necessary supplies.

  She swilled the first sip around in her mouth and then finally swallowed it, taking a larger drink before she passed the bottle to Sarah beside her.

  And they waited: Zainal had not visibly moved a muscle since the captain, or whoever, had left him. He was like a statue, bathed in the very white white of the glaring spots, making the in-and-out traffic go around him. At length, Kris decided that was funny and began to chuckle to herself.

  “I’d like a laugh myself,” Mitford muttered.

  “He’s like a traffic island. He’s making them go around him but he’s not moving an inch. See,” and she pointed out a pair who were forced to divert, “and wouldn’t you think, being Catteni, they’d push him out of the way? If they could? If they dared?”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Mitford answered in a pensive tone. He raised his voice a little louder so the others would hear. “Yeah, our Zainal’s showing them, that’s for sure.”

  Kris thought how clever of the Sergeant to broadcast his observation. And if Zainal really did…

  Two Catteni came out with a largish carton which they placed to one side of Zainal. Four more came with smaller packages. At that point Zainal raised his left arm, gesturing broadly for them to approach.

  “All right, let’s pick our parcels up,” Mitford said and called out five names.

  “I’
m coming, too,” Kris said, stepping forward beside Mitford, and found Joe and Sarah in step with her. When the Sergeant gave her a frowning look, she added, “We’re his patrol.”

  Mitford grunted. Then, as a phalanx, they approached the ship, Mitford in front. Kris could feel herself trembling at being so close to a Catteni vessel, much less the creatures themselves. Two passed them, with their loads of human bodies. She’d already noticed that this drop was a very mixed bag indeed. She’d noticed Deskis, Rugarians, more Turs, and some odd-looking troglodytes she hadn’t ever seen on Barevi.

  As they neared the hold opening, she became aware of the stench emanating from the cargo: sweat, excrement, the stale odor of bodies long enclosed in an inadequate space, and the acrid tang of whatever was used to keep people in stasis for the length of the journey.

  “What a pong!” Sarah said, fanning the air in front of her.

  So they did not dally as they collected the crates. It took four men to manage the big one, and the Catteni laughed to see their struggles with the mass and the weight, so it was as well that Zainal’s patrol elected to come along. Even the smaller crates were heavy, and Kris felt her back muscles strain as she picked up hers.

  “You coming?” she murmured to Zainal, who had resumed his crossarm pose.

  “Soon. I have not all I want.”

  “You’ll stay with us?” It was extremely important to Kris that he did. She was in a panic that somehow she’d lose him, now when she had suddenly realized how much he meant to her.

  “I stay.”

  On the way back to the sidelines, she held herself to even slow steps, determined that she would not give the Catteni any chance to laugh at her.

  “Janiemac, what did they put in this?” Lenny Doyle exclaimed as he helped ease the crate to the ground. “Careful now, it might be breakable.”

  “Naw, Lenny, but we sure are,” Ninety said, groaning, and he made a big display of rubbing the small of his back.

  “Is he coming?” Lenny asked Kris, gesturing to Zainal.

  “Says he is. They haven’t given him all he asked for.”

  “Let’s hope they give him more than he should get,” and, with a sudden spurt of fury, Kris recognized Dick Aarens’ nasty voice.

  “Why ’n’ hell bring him along?” Kris demanded of the Doyles.

  “Only way to be sure he does his share,” Lenny said. Then he added, “He’s getting far too cocky, showing off to everyone that he was the only one who could figure out how the mechos work and what parts’ll work for us. You don’t suppose the Catteni would take him back?”

  “Fat chance of that…My God, look at the piles of folks,” Kris said, for the original, fairly neat order of the rows had altered and bodies were being crammed close together.

  “That’s more than were in our drop,” Mitford said, obviously doing a body count. “Many more. Maybe they’re doing us a favor after all, putting the whole nine yards down in the one spot.”

  “Yeah, but sarge, where’ll we put ’em when they’re awake?”

  “We’ll make room. A lot of ’em are ours!” the Sergeant said in a determined growl.

  “Yeah, but enough’s enough. We’ve just got comfortable and now…”

  “So we share. We remember, don’t we, what it was like. So we dammitall share!” There was no further argument as the unloading continued. “I’d rather have them with us, where we can see ’em, than turning wild and causing our camps no end of trouble.”

  Fatigue from the tearing run to get here, as well as from hefting that heavy carton, began to take its toll of Kris’ energy. Wearily, she sat herself down on the carton.

  “I’ve a loaf of bread to share,” she announced, suddenly remembering that she had, and reached into the map case. She broke off a piece and passed the loaf to Mitford.

  “Good idea,” Mitford said. “At ease, men…and women. Let’s watch the big fat smelly Cats at work.”

  So everyone assumed lounging positions, on the grass, seated on the line of supply cartons or just hunkered down. Joe and Sarah shared their loaves and many in Mitford’s group had thought to bring food, which they distributed.

  “‘Lift that bale, tote that barge,’” sang Lenny’s tenor voice softly.

  “I could sure stand getting a little drunk and landing in jail,” another male voice said and sang the final word down to the bottom of his voice range.

  Everyone laughed and the Cattenis heard.

  “They’re twitching.”

  “Let’s not lay it on too thick.”

  “Ah, sarge!”

  “Easy does it. You do remember forcewhips, don’t you?”

  “They’re not carrying any.”

  “Only because everyone’s unconscious.”

  “Are you counting, Tesco?” Mitford added.

  “I would if you…eight hundred twenty, one, two, and three…don’t interrupt me allatime.”

  “Let’s not make them too mad, blokes,” Joe Marley said. “They’re taking it out on ’em.”

  Everyone shut up, now that Joe had pointed out the rough—rougher—way the Catteni were depositing the unconscious bodies. Almost slamming them into the ground.

  “Zainal, can you tell them not to mash the cargo?” Mitford said, raising his voice to parade-ground level.

  Zainal swiveled at the hips and, seeing one Catteni doing exactly what Mitford protested, snapped a savage bark. The erring Catteni made a big show of placing his burden down more carefully. The others, under Zainal’s watchful gaze, behaved more circumspectly.

  “Is Zainal going to stay there until they finish?” Lenny asked, leaning down to Kris, his expression anxious.

  “I think so. At least he can curb their boyish bad habits.”

  “How does he get away with it?” Lenny asked.

  “Because he knows how to give orders,” Mitford said almost admiringly.

  Idle conversation continued among the watchers’ gang, but no more bursts of laughter to annoy the Catteni. Tesco had got up to a thousand when Mitford gestured for Dowdall to take over. Then more cartons were brought out which the Catteni stacked on the other side of the field, in a sort of farewell gesture of bad feelings. Still Zainal waited.

  All the soldiers had disappeared within the ship and the silence was broken only by noises from the vessel itself, metallic complaints and emissions of liquid and steam. Suddenly the watchers could all hear the sound of boots on metal and a second delegation, five Catteni this time, appeared in the opening. Two stayed inside, three came down, and two stopped partway. The remaining Catteni, dressed in a more elaborate uniform and shorter by a full head than Zainal, came right up to him and presented first a sheaf of what Kris thought had to be printout, and then another folder. These were presented most punctiliously. Kris thought for a moment that the officer was going to click his heels together and bestow a Teutonic military bow on Zainal.

  Zainal accepted the offerings, almost diffidently, said a few words in a low voice, and casually sauntered away from the ship. The blinding blue-white lights went out, the ramp was retracted, and they could hear warm-up engine sounds from the ship.

  For a moment Kris feared that the exhaust from its engines would fry the nearest bodies. But, whining at a pitch that made everyone cover their ears defensively, the big transport lifted vertically in a slow ascent, then edged forward. When it was several fields beyond its landing site, the rear engines glowed from yellow to white to a blue actinic light that made Kris and the others cover their eyes.

  The wind of its passage was enough to knock several off their feet: the bodies of the latest victims fortunately were low enough to be under the blast path.

  Kris could no longer contain herself but rushed out to Zainal, who had begun to walk more briskly, undisturbed by the takeoff wind.

  “Did you get what you wanted? What did you want that took so long?” she cried as she neared him.

  “I got the explore report,” and he held up the folder, “and medicals on Deskis.” He hel
d up the sheaf. “Treatment for Deskis…” and he pointed to the carton Kris had lugged over. “Medicals for humans and Rugarians,” and he indicated the others. “And testers.”

  “How come they snapped to for you, Zainal?” Joe asked.

  Zainal grinned. “I may be down but not out.”

  Kris giggled nervously at his casual use of the slang. Go to the head of the class, she thought.

  “I am still Emassi and they know it,” he added, snapping out the “know.”

  “So what’s ’emassi’ when you’re at home?” Joe demanded, cocking his head to one side.

  “A…born rank.” Zainal shrugged it off.

  “Birth rank,” Kris corrected automatically. She wanted Zainal to speak English properly.

  “I understood him,” Joe said in tacit reprimand.

  Kris firmly closed her lips to a smart retort. Now was not the time to bicker.

  “Look at it this way, folks, we’ve almost doubled our population—the easy way,” Mitford announced when he jumped to the top of the crate.

  “Back at the old stand, huh, sarge?” someone shouted.

  “Yeah, and we’ll follow the same routine. Only this time we’re ahead of the game. We know the drill. Dowdall, get back to Camp Narrow and organize beds and food. Send me at least twenty more people. Bring some buckets and pitchers so we can water ’em. We’ll start sending folks back as soon as they’re able to walk. It’s not that far and that’s a blessing. You, you, you and you, start moving among ’em and pick out the injured—those Cats really banged some of ’em down hard—and any d.o.a.’s. Lenny, Ninety, break open these cartons. Su, Jay, start distribution. Then, Jay, you lead the first group of fifty back to Camp Narrow.” Mitford jumped down again and stood by Zainal. “It looks to me like they emptied their entire load on this one field. That right, Zainal?”

  Zainal nodded.

  “Is that report readable?” Mitford peered at the glyphs, which resembled those that Kris had helped carve in the hillside.

  “Yes. I also told them that this planet is occupied by others of high-tech skill.”

  “Did they believe you?”